The Road to Being Different   1 comment

I have always felt different from the others; the way they do things, the way they think.  Maybe it goes back to my childhood as a redhead who wore red rimmed glasses ( my mom thought they would match my red hair) and having been named Yolanda in a world of Susans, Brendas and Amys. Blending in was hard to do.  I tried to blend in once by telling a new neighbor that my name was Julie – a name I thought was beautiful and longed to have -but of course that facade didn’t last long when the neighbor later told my parents she enjoyed meeting their daughter, Julie

 Maybe I inherited the different gene from my parents, who didn’t mind being different themselves.  While my friends spent their evenings watching Happy Days and Dallas, I spent mine listening to great novels such as Watership Down that my dad read aloud to the family because for a few years we didn’t even own a television.  When we did get a tv, it was a 13 inch black and white on which we watched Masterpiece Theater and All Creatures Great and Small.  I grew up never knowing or caring who shot JR.

I married my husband while wearing khaki shorts standing in the Nashville courthouse.  While my friends went to college, I saw the country from behind the wheel of a semi truck that my husband taught me how to drive.  I spent late nights driving through the desert on a route we often had from Los Angeles to Houston.  After I stopped driving, I took a job as a construction laborer on the site that became the headquarters for Cracker Barrel restaurants.  When that job was completed, my attire went from a hard hat and steel toed boots to a peach colored, waitress uniform complete with ruffles. While waiting tables in a rural Tennessee truck stop, I learned about Southern life from Billie Jean and Nell, two fine ladies whose bouffant hair and frosted pink lipstick accentuated their Southern charm.

Once I became a parent, it made sense that my life would continue on the path of nonconformity.  Pulling our oldest child out of preschool 15 years ago and saying no thanks to formal schooling, having 5 children in a world made for families of four, and sending our 16 and 12 yr olds on a weeklong camping trip alone to South Dakota – 800 miles from our home, all brought raised eyebrows and comments from others.  Comments such as, “That’s different.”  Yes, it sure is.

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Posted December 28, 2010 by The Nonconformist Mom in Uncategorized

One response to “The Road to Being Different

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